Just A Scratch
by daphnap
Summary: Robin has quit YJ for a while, and begins to train Cassie (Wondergirl) After a training session, something goes wrong, and someone loses their life...


Title: Just A Scratch

Censor: R- For violence and language

Spoilers: None

Summary: Robin, who has quitted YJ, begins to train Cassie (Wondergirl). After a training session, something goes wrong…

Some Notes: I've created my own little pocket verse here. I apologize. I just felt that some of the characters had to grow up. Cassie has become a favorite of mine, as of late, although she is nothing like she is in the comics. In this fic, Robin has quit YJ for a while, a hiatus, so to speak. But I felt he would also still remain in contact with his friends. In this fic he is training Cassie. They are friends. Cassie knows that he is Tim Drake, not Alvin Draper, let's say they are best of friends, ok? Work with me here!

This story got long, and I'm sorry, in fact, it's longer than Masks! Jeez…I gotta be on crack…

Ok, yadda yadda yadda:

In This Fanfiction: Robin Dies!

***

"It's getting late."

I didn't say anything, just watched his face as he looked out over the building. Neon lights reflected from his mask, and his black hair reflecting back the pink lights. He was squinting; I could tell by the way his green mask folded around the eyes. What was he staring at? What was so important?

"You know," He turned to face my direction, a small grin tugging at his lips, "I knew you were there."

I still didn't move.

"You had me going there."

Don't move, I tell myself, don't move…

He turned back to the city.

"You're not Batman, you know."

I could sense a hint of laughter. Was that a full-blown grin I saw? Robin never grinned…

He was fiddling something with his belt, pulling out something. I squinted, trying to see what it was… 

A piece of gum. From the packet, I could tell it was winter fresh, and the silver packaging gleamed in the neon light. 

"Have some."

I sighed. Pulling myself out of the shadows and brushing off my costume, I glared at him, "How did you guess?"

"You forgot to cover your hair. The blonde refracted the light from the signs."

I frowned, I had made sure this time to forgo the blue jeans a wondergirl t-shirt for some black spandex and visor. I just forgot the damn hair. "I thought I had it this time."

He tossed me the gum, and I caught it with a gloved hand, "Don't worry, you're improving."

"I forgot to cover my damn hair…"

"Shit happens."

"Stupid stupid genes…"

He placed a had on my shoulder, "Not a big deal."

I just frowned at him, "How long have you been teaching me? What? A year? I should have thought of that."

"Yes, you should have, but come on, when are you going to use it?"

"When we fight-"

"When we fight, were doing so in the open…the average person would never have spotted you."

"This still sucks…"

He laughed, a deep tinkling sound that made me feel somewhat better, "Come on Cassie, let's get some dinner."

**

We found a diner a few blocks from what we affectionately call "The Training Ground". It was dingy, with a signthat was held up only by a screw, and creaked whenever the wind hit it too hard. But it had great cheese steaks, and, as I discovered, Tim couldn't resist cheese steaks.

He could became positively childish when a plate of gooey cheese mixed with almost raw meat was placed in front of him. His eyes light up and his mouth hangs open, as if already eating the horrible mess in front of him. Who was I to complain? I loved cheese steaks just as much as he did.

The waitress dropped two plates of cheese steaks in front of us, the steaming mess already brightening both of our moods. Both of us began to eat with flourish, stuffing the messy goo with haste. We giggled at the site, his nose was tipped with steak sauce and my own, in all probability, likewise. 

We talked about each other's life, catching up with the week's activities. Funny thing, Robin isn't in Young Justice anymore, yet he knows more about what is going on then even I sometimes do.It's discerning to hear him talk of what were doing in great detail, and wonder, how the heck he cannot be there.

Oracle? 

Dismiss it, I tell my self, take comfort in his presence.

He is so much more human outside of his costume than within. Dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, he is alive. His skin glows brightly under the swinging bulb of the diner, and his hair is ruffled, as if he had the top down on the convertible I know he owns. Robin is human.

Not important. Listen, I tell myself, to the story he is telling. He smiles to himself as he recounts another adventure with Nightwing and this woman Oracle. He tells the story with broad strokes, his hand waving, covered in cheese and sauce, the other, clutching tightly the sandwich, spilling onto the plate. 

I laugh as he approaches the pun, his eyes widening in mock excitement. Put him in red spandex and a cape and he's damn scary, put him in a Foo Fighters t-shirt and jeans, and he's downright funny. Interesting.

I take a sip of my ice tea and grab another bite of the sandwich. He's done telling his story, and he's wound down a bit. God he's cute…

He reaches out, with a non-gloved finger, swiping at something beside my lip, he grins, "Sauce." And we both let out a string of giggles. Inside joke.

Soon the plates are cleared, not even a piece of melted cheese clutching the white plastic. A pile of napkins makes its place on the middle of the table, stained with sauce and cheese goo. The cups are empty, long past the free refill, and we are both silent.

"So, Cass, how does it feel to be a leader?"

I'm taken aback by this comment, "What do you mean?"

He stretches, "Well, it's been two months, you've fought one mega-villain and helped the JLA twice, you've managed to calm down Bart to a point were he starts making sense, and you've coerced Cissie to come back, so…" He leans in, eyes darting suggestively, "Inquiring minds want to know….how do you do it?"

I lean in, matching his eyes with my own, "I guess you could say it's just my feminine charm…" 

He laughs, "As obviously shown in the recent Teen- Beat report: 'Superboy and Wondergirl: Super-Couple'"

"But you don't read those magazines…"

"Of course not, so tell me, when did this happen?"

"Rob, give me a break, I know you know the exact place, day, hour, minute, second in which Kon-El, ward of Cadmus, asked me, Cassie Sandsmark, daughter of Ms. Sands mark, out for-"

"A quick lunch at McDonalds, and to be his girlfriend, yeah, you caught me, I just wanted to hear it from you…" He sighed, pulling out his wallet, and slapping down a twenty, "It was just a way to distract you," He motioned for the waitress to join us, "So I could pay the bill this time."

I let my mouth drop in mock anger, "Rob, you sneaky weasel!" 

He grinned, holding out a hand to help me up, "Come on, I'll walk you to your car." 

We slipped out of the diner, coats clasped tightly against the cold Gotham wind. He knew I didn't have a car, that I had flown here, but it was an old joke nonetheless, I was walking him to his car.

The wind hit our faces harshly, and even with superpowers, I winced, it must have been worse for Tim. I looked at him, and found what I expected, he didn't even flinch. He walked as if he was walking in the summer, he looked the same in freezing cold as he did in sweltering heat. 

"Do you ever miss being in Young Justice?" 

I expected him to shake his head, but he just looked ahead, nodding slightly, "Yeah, I guess you could say that…" He was silent for a moment, as if he was composing his answer, "Where else could I have found friends like you guys."

I didn't answer, kept walking, I turned to him, prepared to ask a question I had been meaning to ask since he left.

He had stopped walking, and I bumped into him, "I know what you want to ask."

"Do you?"

Nodding, he began his slow stroll, "Why, right? Why would I leave Young Justice?" He gives me a sardonic grin, as if it's some joke, "I don't think I have to answer that."

"Yes you do."

"But you already know the answer."

"I want to hear it from you."

He turned to me, wagging his finger, "We played that game already, didn't we?"

"Come on, tell me."

"How do I know you're not distracting me from something?"

"Trust me."

He laughed, "Fine." He sobered for a moment, "I had too much going on at the time, school, family, the whole Batman thing, it was all just compressing, sucking away what little time I had. I lost sight of Tim for a while, for a moment, for a moment, I began referring to myself as Robin." He laughed tightly, "When you get to that point, you have to take a step back."

"So your step back included quitting Young Justice?"

"For the time being."

We were silent for a moment, walking quietly down the street. The streetlights glowed in the dark, casting small expanses of lights. We were nearing his car. It wasn't the Red Robin I had seen him drive a few times, nor was it the motorcycle that he had hidden away somewhere. It was modest for him, nothing expensive or overly fancy, two-doors, a high-school kid's car. The blue black gleamed under the lights.

I suspect that the car had much more under its hood, he's Robin, I *know* it has much more under its hood.He deactivates the alarm, and leans against the hood, his arms crossed.

I fidget with my coat, my eyes cast down, "So, same time next week."

Tim nods, silent for a moment he's looking at me strangely, "Cass-"

He's cut off, a small explosion shaking through the block. Behind him, the supposedly derelict building seems to implode, than explodes outwards, metal and stone flying towards us. I try and shout, but I'm cemented in place, by the shear shock of what was happening.

Something hits Tim's car, and as I reach out and grab him, the gas tank explodes, sending me flying backwards in a stream of flame. I land, a few feat away, hair singed, eyebrows most likely burnt off, I stare at my hand, in shock as it's clasping a small scrap of cloth. It's part of Tim's shirt.

I spin back, to where the car used to be, and am faced with burning skeleton of what was once Tim's car.

Oh my god.

Tim is gone.

I spin, looking around, panicked, Oh god, Tim's human, he can get hurt, get burnt, all sort of things.

Images of crushed Tim, barbequed Tim, severed Tim flash through my mind, and are quickly put to rest when I see his body, slouched against a twisted streetlight. His face is obscured, bent, as if he was staring at his lap.

Nothing seems twisted, no body parts seem missing.

I want to run towards him, but my feet aren't working. I seem to be moving slowly, as if I'm scared to approach him, scared to see if he's hurt.

Reaching out with my right hand, I press my fingers against his neck, searching for a pulse.

Beat….beat….beat…

Weak, but there, thready, but there, good god, he survived the blast. I reach to shake his shoulder, whispering, "Come on Tim, get up." 

I lift his head, to see if his eyes are open.

And let it drop back to his chest in horror.

Oh my god.

***

Embedded in his face is a piece of metal, a sharp shard that is thrust through his right cheek. Around were it enters, blood dribbles down his face and onto his tattered shirt, stained the gray with blood. His breathing comes out in rattling gasps, and I'm too scared to move.

Oh god.

I reach out with a shaky hand and begin to lift him up. Only thought in my mind is too get him to a hospital. 

His eyes snap open, and a strangled scream erupts from his throat. I reach to stop him, but he's on his feet, and almost collapses against the streetlight that he had been leaning against. 

He stands there, breathing sharply from his nose. His chest heaves with each breath and he is staring at me. He must have noticed that something was wrong from the look on my face. He glanced at his shirt, swiping a finger, and looked shocked as it came up with blood. Looking dazed, his fingers traveled the trail up his neck, ending at the cheek, where the shard of metal still lay wedged. He felt around it, wincing, as he grasped at it. 

And he pulled it out.

I wanted to faint, I felt bile creep up my throat, and gagged, trying to keep it down. 

He looked at me strangely, "Cass, are you alright?"

Me, alright? I wanted to laugh if it wasn't so macabre. Here he was, blood streaming from his cheek, holding a piece of bloodied metal in his hand, and he was asking me if I was alright.

So funny I wanted to throw up.

I stumbled towards him, blubbering like an idiot, "But, you, had," I made various motions with my hands, pointing at the metal, and at his cheek, "I…don't…"

The fucker smiles, a tiny grin touching his lips, "It's looked pretty bad, huh?" He nods, as if I made any movement to agree with him. I'm still dumbfounded, he pulls a bandage out of his incredible belt he has hidden under his shirt, he sets to work cleaning the wound, "It didn't go all the way through." 

The little fucker!

How the fuck does he do that?

I must be in shock, I'm cursing. 

Fuck. I have every right to.

One of my best friends is standing in front of me, currently applying a bandage to a wound that was the result of a shard of metal that was, two seconds ago, seemingly embedded in his face.

How the fuck could he even talk after that?

He looks at me worriedly, "Cass, are you hurt?" He reaches out with a bloody hand, than quickly retracts it noticing my slightly sick look. 

I stumble as I drop to the floor, sitting down without grace.

He gets a concerned look on his face, the damn bastard, and kneels besides me, "What's wrong?"

I stare at the fire that is destroying the remains of the ware-house, and glare at him, "What's wrong is that you just yanked out a piece of metal from you face and you are concerned about me,how in the fuck can you do that?"

"Very carefully."

I sock him in the shoulder and he winces, "Not funny."

He leaned in, lifting my chin, "Why are you crying?"

I didn't even notice that. I lifted a finger to my chin, and was surprised to see tears. 

"I guess I thought you were going to die…"

He grinned again. I think I've seen him smile more times this night then all the rest put together. Fucking weird I tell you…

He's pulling back the bandage, and I turn away, "Come on Rob, I don't need to see that…"

I peek through my shut lids, After it's been cleaned and packed, it doesn't look so bad…

"See, it's just a scratch…Nothing bad, it was a lateral cut, it was imbedded lengthwise, never punctured all the way through…"

"That's comforting."

"Come on Cass let's go check out the wreckage."

I stare at him, "Are you sure you don't have super powers?"

He helps me up, "Pretty sure," He motions to the burnt wreckage that was his car, "What the heck happened?"

I wanted to laugh, Robin had no idea what had happened. That was a definite first. Maybe it was because he was facing me when the friggin ware house exploded, I told myself.

I motioned to where the warehouse once stood, "That happened."

He studied the burning wreckage of his car, "Well damn." He approaches the car delicately, studying the remains, "There goes the cape.."

He pulls out of his pocket his trademark green mask and slaps it on his face, spirit gum sticking instantly. Looking around quickly, and making sure no one was staring, he yanked off his shirt, and shimmied out of his jeans, until he was left with his costume, sans cape. He pulled out his gloves from the cargo pockets, and in two seconds flat, he was Robin.

A Robin running towards the fire.

"Rob, wait!" I call out after him, trying to catch up, "The police and fire department are on there way! They can't see you…"

He holds up a hand, motioning me to be quiet, "Shh, I hear something…"

He approaches the burning wreckage slowly, looking through the fire.

And he is thrown to the floor by the impact of a bullet.

Then he gets up.

Kevler.

A silver bullet clatters to the ground, from where it had impacted in his chest, and Robin is grasping his chest painfully, obviously hurt by the force of the bullet.

Someone is laughing.

It's an odd, maniacal laugh, tinged with something I can't put words to.

It hurts my ears.

High pitched and reaching twisting whine, I push my hands to my ears, feeling blood dribble down from them. Good god, I'm bleeding.

I squeeze my eyes shut, as if doing so would relieve the pain in my ears.

I peek at Rob, he's still moving forward, impossibly, amazingly. He's managed to pull something out of his belt, and, why should I be surprised, it's a pair of earplugs. He pushes them into his bloodied ears, and he turns towards me, holding something in his hand.

Earplugs.

Surprised? Shouldn't be by now, rips metal shards from his face, damn well has an extra pair of earplugs in that belt of his…

I stuff them into my ears gratefully, and wipe my hands on my tattered black spandex suit.I look around me. The flames have died down a bit, but, not enough as to see clearly where the sound is coming from. Black soot covers my visor, and for a moment I lose sight of Robin. But a swipe of my hand, and the soot is cleared away, and I almost wish I had kept it.

Good God.

I seem to be saying that a lot today…

**

He stands there, a gun in one hand, a little girl in the other. She is tiny, looks like a 3rd grader or 4th grader, clutched in her hand a little stuffed elephant. She wiggles and twists, trying to pull away from his grasp, a slightly perturbed look on her face, as if she doesn't understand the man wanted to kill her. 

A shock of green hair and a wide rictus of a smile that stretched across his face, yellow teeth shining in the fire stood over us. He should be burning, standing amidst all that flame, but he wasn't. He just stood there, grinning, a high-pitched whine of a laugh.

I glance at Rob, and his face is dead set, I can see his mind working. I glance back at the Joker, his laughing face and grinning eyes. The urge to find a gun, to shoot him, to make the laughing stopped manifested in a bad feeling in my stomach. I wanted to either kill him, or kill myself, in order to get rid of that laugh. Maybe that was his intent, to drive us mad, to make us commit the sin.

Concentrate Cassie, just concentrate…

Robin is in action, moving away from the warehouse. I'm in shock. I fully expected him, no matter how stupid it was of me, to run into the fire, to get the girl that was held by the crazy animal of a man.

He pushed through rubble, heading towards a building directly across the street, another abandoned warehouse. There sure seemed to be plenty of abandoned warehouses in Gotham. Tim once told me that they were layovers from the late sixties, early seventies, when asbestos was found to be dangerous, it was cheaper just to the leave the buildings, rather than refit them with other flame retardant material.

I just think that if they got rid of the warehouses, Gotham's crime rate might drop by half…

Wishful thinking.

I try and make sense of his strategy, then it clicks. I look back at the Joker. He is still laughing. Has he taken a breath? Has stopped at any moment? I squint, and suddenly realize it's only a projection. That' was why he wasn't burning as he should be. He wasn't there at all.

I scramble towards Rob, in an effort to keep up with his pace. He is running now and I give up running behind him, letting myself be picked up by the breeze, and fly towards him. As I pass him, in an effort to get there before him, I feel his gloved hand wrap around my ankle, pulling me roughly towards him, he shakes his head _No!_ and pushes me aside.

Robin pushed me aside? I have superpowers and he has a Kevlar lined suit, already compromised.

What is going on?

I don't listen, and maybe I should have, but I'm not that intelligent…

I follow behind him, silently, using a soft foot technique he had taught me a few months back. 

# Heel…toe….heel…toe…

_ _

He seems agitated, running his fingers through his hair, running now, as he desperately tries to find an entrance into the building from the where the projection is emerging. He finds one, a small maintenance door on the left side of the building. He kicks through it with a left roundhouse, pushing through the splintered door and moving quickly inside.

He isn't going for stealth, and for a moment I'm shocked. Robin has always gone for stealth, he has always planned before moving, never, NEVER, has just moved through.

Something is going on here.

He is angry. I can tell on his face, his mouth is set in a grim line and his fists are clenched as he pushes through the boxes that scatter the empty warehouse.

The screaming stops.

I pullout the earplugs, stuffing them in my pouch around my waist for later use, and keep following Rob as he moves. He must have noticed too because he is pulling out his earplugs while continuing to run.

He approaches the entrance to the stairway, one hand already wrapped around the knob.

I run up, I can't help it, I grab him by the arm and swing him around and I shout, "What the hell is going on?"

He stares at me in shock then he turns angry, "Get out of here, NOW!" He pulls his arm from my grasp and begins to run faster. 

I can't leave him. I'm stupid that way…

He hears my footsteps behind him and he spins around, coming to a stop, anger etched across his face, "You don't know what you are doing. This is dangerous and I can't have you following me."

"How do I know that? You're just barging in there, no plan, nothing, what is wrong with you?"

"Just get out of here, trust me."

"How have you earned that trust?"

"Leave Cass, I can't tell you enough."

I stare at him angrily, "You are human. You bleed. You have just been toasted alive, slammed into a flagpole, had a five inch piece of metal thrust into your face, and you are telling me to leave?" I poke him in the chest, harder than I intended, "If I leave, I'm taking your kicking, screaming body with me, you understand?"

He just glares at me, unspeaking, his head drops, and then he sighs. This is what worries me. Now I'm scared.

He looks back up at me, and though I can't see his eyes, I know they are flashing with anger, "Cassie, that girl you saw Joker gripping on to?"

I nod.

"She's dead. She has been dead for some time. What you saw was a recording."

He is walking closer to me, pulling out something from his belt. That belt of his…

It's a black and white picture, clear and horrifying, "I was there. It happened two months ago."

About the time he quit YJ…

"I was trying to get to her in time, I was too late, and he did this." He shoved the picture into my hands, "I was there. I was waiting for the best time to get to him. I stayed silent, hidden, waiting for a plan, for the best solution." He began to move away, "Some time the best solution in the wrong one."

"If she's already dead, why are you in such rush to get up there and meet him?"

"Look at the back of the picture."

And I looked. Stupid me, I looked.

Scrawled on the back, in messy handwriting, was written: "Too late lil Robin, She died! You tried, tried, tried, and she died! Too late lil Robin! She's not coming back. Next time be quicker. HA! HA! A next time is soon! Lil Robin, come catch me…"

I blinked, digesting it, and looked back up.

He was gone.

Fuck.

**

I heard his feet clatter up the stairs.

Stupid.

He's being fueled purely on emotion. He's not thinking. Goddamit, he's not thinking!

I wanted to run up to him, to catch up to him, but it would be too late.

I turn the other way retracing my steps, getting out of that warehouse. I push out into the open, noticing that fire-trucks were already there. Pushing down my visor from where they were on my head, I took flight in the shadow of the building, raising past the first floor…the second floor…the third floor… I see Robin's image dart in and out of the shadows in the cavernous third floor, running towards something.

The laugh has started again. I turn to see if the firemen are affected, but they seem not to notice. Is it only in my head, some sick soundtrack for a sick play? 

Fire hoses.

They were loud, gushing out water at incredible speeds… Of course, can't hear, sound blocked out.

I push in the ear plugs and I'm dropped in silence. It's as if someone turned off all the sound. The laughing is blocked, but it echoes in my head. 

I fly as fast as I can past the windows, hoping in vain to see if I can gather enough speeds to come up in front of him.

I'm not fast enough.

From the windows I can see Robin skid to a stop, a bat-a-rang clutched inhis hand, a grim look on his face.

He's spotted the projector.

It's still running, but rather then projecting it into the opposite building, the one burning, it's projecting inside.

In front of Robin.

Joker knows he's coming.

Shit.

**

I'm too late.

Oh god, I'm too late.

Robin has spotted the Joker. He's lounging on a lawn chair, drinking a lemonade, instead of a lemon slice to garnish it, a human finger floats among the ice. I want to throw up. I almost do. 

Robin balks.

He's slowly backing away, but Joker raises a finger, shaking it, as if to tell him no.

He uses that same finger to turn off the tape recorder connected to a megaphone. The laughing stops once more.

I pull out the earplugs, stuff them in my pouch. I float closer to the window behind the Joker. Does Robin spot me? I can't tell if his eyes dart just past the Joker, I hope he sees me…

The Joker is saying something, and I can't hear, just dull whisper that barely escapes the glass.

Gotta get closer.

I float closer, my face pressed against the window pane, watching intently.

Does Robin need my help?

Robin is running again, letting loose a flurry of batarangs, exploding around the Joker, some of them even hitting him. The room is covered in smoke and I loose site of the both of them.

That's it.

I push through the window, shards of glass scattering in a halo around me.

I don't even bother to touch down. I fly through the room, searching for that shock of green hair.

I see it, moving through the clouds of smoke, quickly, gracefully. A serial killer graceful, heh…

I grab him by the hair, and throw him down, pushing him to the floor, and holding him down there, arms to the sides, pinned between my legs.

I don't even notice how hard I'm breathing. Air comes out in short gasps from my nose, and I see it scatter the smoke around me.

The joker is laughing, as if it was a joke.

I look for Robin, hoping to catch a glimpse of him through the haze that has now begun to slowly clear…

"Robin?" I call out, voice strained and scratched from the smoke, "I've got him, Robin?"

No answer.

**

What is going on?

I turn back to the man, the monster, I am holding down. He is staring at me intently, a mad smile stretched across his face.

He's whispering something.

Oh no, I saw that movie, thank you very much, I will not lean in and I will not try and make out what he's saying. 

"Come on little girl, I know were Robin is…."

Tempting, very tempting….

Don't listen, I tell myself, too short of a time for him to do anything to Rob, too short of a time…

I don't move.

He's struggling, shouting now, "Stupid girl, don't mess in things when you have no idea of the joke, of the plot I am trying to set in motion here!"

He is not strong, and I do not move, not an inch.

"Stupid girl!" He screams, high pitched, mouth wide.

And gas comes shooting from out of his throat.

I cough, become dizzy.

Grip loosens. 

Hand's fall to side. 

Floor rushing up to meet me…

**

My face is on fire. My cheeks feel like they are ripping apart, pulling apart, hurts hurts hurts hurtshurtshurts…

I can't scream, can't move my mouth, nothing.

Feel my body being lifted. Feel something pressed against to my head.

Skin prickly.

Hurts.

Laugh.

Pain.

Laughing, can't stop laughing!

I try and clench my eyes, my fists, my stomach.

So funny, have to laugh! Funny!

Pain.

Laugh! Laugh! 

My eyes can't move, can't speak, can't hear.

A dull roar rushes through my head. Heart beats in chest.

Beat Beat BeatBeatBeat…

Can't move…

Laugh! Laugh! Laugh damnit, *LAUGH*!

I feel something pressed against my right temple, something sharp? Hurts.

It's circular.

Collect thoughts. I wanna laugh!

Circular, stencil, shape, round, pie, pizza, gun…gungungungun.

Gun pressed against head. 

Robin. Standing. 

Alive?

Yes.

Alive.

Angry, so angry…

And the laughing, oh god, the laughing…

Save me.

Hee hee!

**

My eyes flutter open. I'm laying on the ground.

A hand is wrapped around my neck. Gripping? Hurts.

I push my self up, blond hair covers my visor.

Stupid genes.

Where am I?

Oh that's right, I was stupid, I went after the Joker.

I pull off my visor, rub my eyes, try to get my bearings.

Nothing.

I can't see? Am I blind? I turn around. Light streams through a broken window.

I broke that window. Did I? Memory sketchy.

Gas flowing out of a mouth, noxious green gas. Clogs up my lungs, my vision…

I can see now. Eyes weren't used to the dark, closed a long time?

Can't think straight. Words come tumbling out, jumbled. Can't think, can't think.

I look around me. The hand that was wrapped around my neck, so deathly cold. That's all it was: a hand, a severed, sheet-white hand. Green long fingernails curve, jagged.

Joker's hand.

I gag, and throw up, spilling bile and cheese-steak sandwich over the floor.

I run a hand over my sweaty forehead. A syringe sticks out of my right arm, and I pull it out, noticing a drop of my blood at the tip.

Good god.

Where's the rest of him?

I didn't need to see that. Suffice to say, that the warehouse was covered in him.Tufts of green hair floated gently around the warehouse, and some lay scattered in congealed blood. 

I saw his twisted body slumped against an empty packaging box.

Where was Robin?

Did I want to find out?

I found out that I did, and stepped gingerly over Joker's mangled body.

I looked, searching for the telltale green spandex, "Robin?" I called out, first quietly, then louder, "Robin? Are you here? Answer me!"

I spin around, desperate now. Where was he?

Flash 

**

I see it, in my minds eye. I'm struggling, coughing, joking on the gas as the Joker wraps his hand around my neck. He's picking me up, gun brought up beside me, pressing into my head.

Hurts.

I scream, and Robin comes into view. He looks angry and he's pulling something out of his belt. It's a bat-a-rang. It flies from his fingers, as if on its own accord and hits Joker with the arm that is joking it me. Must be the ones that explode, flash of light, and…

Fall to the floor.

Still laughing.

Robin comes into view, funny, so fucking funny! Can't stop laughing.

He's pulling something out of his pocket: a syringe. Stabs it in my arm.

Keep laughing, still laughing so funny……

Not funny at all.

Take a deep breathe! Breathe! Breathe! Air rushes in lungs, and suddenly Robinis flying back, head snapped back, body rocketing in the air, blood spinningin the air behind him, trailing, following him…he hits a pile of boxes, tumbles, cover's, obscured.

Look back, see Joker, laughing as he clutches his severed arm, blood spurting, going everywhere…so much blood.

A hand sticks up from tumble of boxes, Robin is getting up, blood streams from head, he clutches a silver R in his hand, and he lets it rip.

Joker brings up gun, shoots, shoots, shoots, shootshootshoots…

No more Robin. Sad.

Joker falls back. The R explodes. No more Joker.

That's funny.

Gotta laugh.

Stop! No laughing.

Blackness overwhelming…

**

Oh god…

And then I saw it. A black boot stuck out from behind overturned boxes, and scrambled there quickly, overturning the boxes until I found Robin.

Blood stained the floor, spilled over, coated everything. My hands were slick with blood, the boxes soaked in it, I wanted desperately to wipe it off, get it off, clean it…

I reach for the final box, it's covering his upper body. It's wilting almost, soaked in blood, I pull it off and the urge to scream rumbled up my throat and throw up, right there, beside the body, only greenish fluid, bile streams out of my mouth.

The body.

His head is bloody, and bloody streams out, sluggish from the side of his head.

His body is pockmarked full of bullet holes, some pushed through the Kevlar, blood oozes out, gooey, jello-like consistency, gelatinous. 

He can't be dead…

A rattling breath escaped from his lips.

He's alive! Still alive!

I fumble for a cell phone I keep in my pouch, the black phone slipping and sliding between my slick fingers. I push in the numbers 911, and count the seconds until someone picks up.

"What's the emergency?" A man answered/

"Please send an ambulance, he's dying, please hurry, oh god, please…"

I'm breathing heavily, and tears are welling in my eyes.

"Where are you ma'am?"

"Uh," Where was I? This was Gotham, I had no idea were I was… "Um, oh god, I'm not from here…" I stare out the window. Fifth street and Byrd, "Uh, fifth street and Byrd, please, he's dying."

"I'm sending an ambulance right now, be patient, and stay on the line." 

I nod, useless, I know the man can't see, but it's comes nonetheless.

"What is the injury?"

"Oh god, uh, he's dying, he was shot… a lot of blood, a lot of blood…"

"Ma'am, calm down, please…"

"It's all over…all over."

"Ma'am, please, we need some information. How old is the victim?"

"He's uh, he's, I don't know, sixteen, seventeen…" I'm stumbling over words, I'm losing coherency, "Oh god, he's stopped breathing!"

I hear sirens in the background. Flashing lights.

"Where are you ma'am?"

"In the ware-house, uh, third floor."

Then it suddenly hits me.

I'm in costume.

I look hurriedly around.

I hear the medics clambering up the stairs.

I pull from my pouch a spare shirt I keep tucked away, pulling it over my spandex, I push the visor onto my head, they look like sunglasses now.

I look almost normal.

Except for the blood that streaks my hands.

I turn back to Robin, his breathing is coming out in short gasps, quicker. Something is wrong…

"No, stop, come back, Rob, please, wake up." I reach for him, hold him close to me, blood is flowing onto my shirt, spilling over, "No, please."

I hear the medics in the background.

He's not breathing anymore, "No..." I whisper. I'm rocking back and forth, I don't notice it.

Medics are pulling me away, pushing me aside. They seem to swarm him, and as one pulls me away, I reach out, "Don't take off the mask, please, for his sake, don't take it off!"

**

I feel my eyes flutter open.

I'm sitting in the ambulance. I feel the ambulance move. Where are the sirens? I feel a blanket wrapped around my shoulders, and a woman is sitting besides me, her arm draped around me. I turn to her fearfully, "Why aren't the sirens on?" I ask, and she is silent.

I stare at Robin, he's laying on the cot, his body gently moving as the car travels down the highway. His bleeding has stopped. 

He's not breathing.

His normally tan skin has a bluish tint and I feel sick over again.

"He's…"

She nods, and I feel sick.

So sick.

His eyes must be closed behind the mask.

I reach over, peeling back the mask, smoothing back the hair. The hair, slick with blood is limp under my fingers, and I pull back. I peel back the mask some more, and I almost pull back my self. His eyes were still open.

Underneath long black lashes stare back blue eyes.

Black pupils seem to bore holes into the ambulance's ceiling, dilated, they give the impression as if he was shocked.

I reach out with two fingers, gently pushing his lids closed.

I can't cry. No tears come out.

I sit there, riding in an ambulance, with a person I don't know, her arm wrapped around my shoulders, and stare numbly at his body.

That's all he was now.

A body.

**

The End.

Good god. I'm supposed to be doing work! 

Thank you for reading.

-dafnap


End file.
